An Evolution: Part 1
Hi, My name is Evolyn, and I’m a Mitsubishi Evo, I’m currently sitting in a used car lot where my previous abusive owner left me. The salesman seems arrogant, which will not help me find a new home.
I remember the day well. It was just another afternoon at the dealership, and I was parked front and center, ready for the next potential owner to take me for a spin. A young man walked in, his eyes initially set on an ’05 STI that had already been sold. Lucky for me, his gaze soon fell my way. I could tell he was intrigued. The test drive didn’t blow him away—I wasn’t at my best then—but I felt like I had made a decent impression.
A week later, there he was again, ready to take me home. I became his faithful commuter, ferrying him to and from college with the kind of reliability that turns “just a car” into a trusted companion. But as the months rolled by, I started to sense a shift. He seemed to be noticing things—my little imperfections, the signs of age creeping up on me. His suspicions led him to Maple Grove Auto for a compression test, and the results weren’t good: all my valves were bent.
But instead of giving up on me, he doubled down. New valves, springs, and cams were ordered. It wasn’t just a repair; it was a resurrection. A few weeks later, with a fresh tune and 330 horsepower screaming through my drivetrain, I felt better than I had in years. I was a beast, though I noticed he kept the boost levels conservative—just enough to keep me safe. He was taking care of me, and I appreciated that.
A year later, though, things started to change. A WRX wagon joined the family, taking over my role as the daily driver. I spent more time in the garage, watching as the northeast winters started to leave their mark on me. Rust began to bubble up on my rear quarters, a sign that time was starting to catch up. But once again, my owner stepped in, determined to keep me in top form. He ordered the necessary repairs, even opting for a full paint job. When it was done, I felt ten years younger, ready to turn heads all over again.
But as more years passed, I found myself spending more time parked than out on the road. Our weekend drives became fewer, replaced by his new obsession: a Ducati. I couldn’t blame him—who wouldn’t want to carve through the canyons on a bike like that? Still, every time he walked into the garage, I could see the fondness in his eyes. He hadn’t forgotten me.
Then, out of nowhere, he placed an order that caught me completely off guard: a new turbo kit. Suddenly, I’m not just the car in the garage anymore—I’m about to get a second wind. Agile Automotive is the destination, and I know they’ll treat me right.
This is my comeback story, and I’m ready to roar back to life.
